


Not more X-men Imagines

by HelpingHanikan



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Dangerous mutations, F/F, F/M, Gen, I have yet to spell Charles correctly on the first try, Imagines, Itty bitty bit of violence, Mutant Reader, Reader Insert, X-men - Freeform, human reader, requests open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelpingHanikan/pseuds/HelpingHanikan
Summary: Be it yours or theirs, relationships are hard enough without powers. Put mutations in the mix and there is more then a struggle. But they are there for you, and you are there for them.(Requests are open)
Relationships: Charles Xavier & Reader, Charles Xavier/Reader, Erik Lehnsherr/Reader, Hank McCoy/Reader, Jean Grey/Reader, Kurt Wagner/Reader, Logan/Reader, Peter Maximoff/Reader, Raven | Mystique/Reader, Raven/Reader, Wolverine/Reader
Kudos: 88





	1. Inter-species relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships come in many forms, with those that are powered and those that aren’t.

**Charles Xavier:**

Behind the powers, behind the suits and the missions and the X-men themselves there is a school. A school with actual students that need an actual education. Which in turn needs actual teachers. Which is where you come in.

Andy was one of your students, Andy was a bright student and Andy was a little shit.

“This is fucking shit,” It was Lily’s voice, but it didn’t come from her.

“Andrew…” Your chalk sat down, turning to face him with a ‘are you serious’ look.

Andy didn’t have the most impressive power in the school. He was a mocking bird, a watered-down Mystic who can only change his voice and prints. Not enough to warrant a super suit, but enough to be taken advantage off. Several nights spent behind bars and handcuffs before his mother got to Charles’s school.

“Lily said it.” Andrew says before you completely turn around.

Lily is done, staring to the ceiling like she’s hoping for God to take her from this misery.

“The least you can do is learn how to lie better. Or pretend to be someone who can do it.” One perk of being a one of it’s kind private school was the amount of sass you’re allowed to dish out. Anything short of cussing out a kid was green lit, within reason.

Among the small chuckles from your students there was Andrew. And his little smile that turned into a smirk.

“Of course, Miss.” Your name came from Charles voice but out of Andrew’s mouth.

Later on, Charles was trying to hide a smile behind his hand. Pretending that he was reading the paper in front of him and only half listening to your rants.

* * *

**Erik Lehnsherr:**

Accidents happen in prison all the time; from suicides to miscounts of prisoners, no prison is perfect.

So, who can say how that metal fork was mixed with the plastic?

It was either the recent surge of sympathy for mutants, or just plain stupidity that Magneto was still alive. Leashed and caged in plastic in an equally non-metal prison. Millions in tax payers money ruined by someone infected with sympathy.

He only stared up at you, like he was expecting a kick to the face.

And you stared back, pretending that the fork suddenly floating wasn’t anything new. It’s only when you take several steps back, does he stop staring.

Floating fork dents and presses, a thick needle pressed into a lock neither of you saw. Watching the neck restraint come undone, although silent, was the loudest sound.

It was your turn to stare at him, expecting violence when he only walks past you.

“I’m only giving you now to leave,” He says, jerking his head towards the door you had entered.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” You said while walking away. Probably only getting a few second head start.

* * *

**Raven/ Mystique:**

The smallest bit of blue lays in the palm of her hand. It spreads into the flat of the fingers, and onto the thumb. Skin that was entirely _her_ pressed against your own. Follow up the arm and into the green eyes and you won’t find her there.

Instead you see a man, a stranger created from hundreds of faces passing by each day.

It was only in the confines of your apartment that she was your entire blue rose. Grabbing her hand and begging her to come with you, pulling her with you towards the door. As though the door frame was a machine, changing your love into the stranger the world would accept.

At least twice a week you sat on your bench with a different person. Lovingly holding each of their hands in the same way each time. Head resting against their shoulder without a change of pattern.

Peter Maximoff:

He never outright said it, but everyone knew that Peter was always different.

He had class across the school? Didn’t matter, he was always there. Already stealing whatever snack you were trying to hide away.

School work? Done in the time it takes for your book to be pulled from the bag. It was almost never right, forcing you to watch him do it painstakingly slow.

It was something that no one bothered to tell anyone else. Something that was just a trick of the mind and not worth mentioning. After months of these tricks happening and then only one you’ve ever said anything to was Peter’s mother.

“You have to trap him,” Ms. Romanoff said when you mentioned it. “I used to hold his hand everywhere, until he was about thirteen. It’s like a leash or something he can’t break out of.”

At no point was the question asked but the answer was clear.

* * *

**Hank McCoy:**

There is two moods when sleeping next to Hank: Cuddling into a comfort you can only dream of buying in stores. And mentally planning your funeral after you die from heat-stroke.

It’s an amazing thing to watch someone you love gain confidence. Seeing Hank stand taller then before, voicing his opinion instead of exiling himself to the lab. All this while in blue, too. There was no way you’d make him feel bad by explain that he was gonna smother you one of these nights.

It seemed he already knew. Every night you visited he would try and sleep on the farthest part of the bed. Curling in on himself while you did the same on the other side.

It never lasted long. Both Hank and you were natural cuddlers. In the haze of sleep Hank reaches for his natural state as the big spoon. A branch of fur reaching around your middle and a bear of blue pressing into your back. In your own world of sleep your head is controlled by another. Lifting for the other branch to find it’s place under your neck.

A heat stroke in the middle of the night is just a cross you have to bear.

* * *

**Jean Gray:**

She was already slightly an outcast amongst outcasts. Coming full circle and into your arms after running into each other on more then one occasion. 

The only way you’d ever make her situation worse would be through a visit. Just like now.

Only Scott seemed to notice when Jean suddenly stopped talking. Her eyes slightly widening and the brisk, but fast, walking she made towards the front door.

You’re standing in front of the gate like a tourist. Looking up and down at the paper with a hastily scrawled address Jean hadn’t thought you’d actually use. She walks towards you with quick strides and flowing hair in your direction.

“Hi!” You wave at her.

“Hey, what-what are you doing here?” She asks, jogging the last few steps.

“Sorry, you mentioned you weren’t doing anything today.” You say when she reaches you.

“No, it’s fine. Just-just like, call first.” She looks beyond the gate towards her school.

Scott stands at one of the balconies. You watched for too long and another two of her fellow students come out. One even waving in your direction. A gesture you returned.

“The school isn’t really the best place for us to meet…” She says moving her head like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Because of your-.” Your hand makes a wiggly motion next to your head. “little trick and whatever?”

“It’s not-I don’t have a little trick.” Jean says.

Your eye-brow raise and head tilt stopped her from trying to defend herself any further.

One of the fondest memories shared was of the first real date. The one where Jean could answer every question you threw at her, about yourself and otherwise. She remembers the glee in your eyes when she’d pretend to think _really_ hard and then answer with supreme confidence. You remember how it took you a few minutes to realize her gift. Back then it was just a theory. One proven fact after several incidents in your following interactions.

“Babe,” You say. “You aren’t exactly subtle.”

* * *

**Logan/ Wolverine:**

“Stop moving,” You scold.

Flat of your palm presses against his forehead, pushing him back onto the little table. He could easily push against your own strength but instead he falls back. Landing with a grunt as though he was mortally wounded.

“Hank treats me better than you do.” He comments, wincing when you made another incision.

Your medical know how was the smallest bit above average. Panic watching YouTube videos after the first time he asked for “a little help”. You still had yet to learn about pain killers.

“Go to Hank next time, and then you can take all his beer, instead.” Using tweezers, you press into the skin. Taking hold of the bullet in his skin and pulling it outward.

In normal cases bullets aren’t removed from wounds unless there’s a surgery. It took a little convincing from Logan’s side for you to remove the bullet the first time around. Come the second and your forcing his leg onto the table to dig out the bullet deep in his thigh.

“It’s not my fault they appear in my hands. Almost like somebody is handing them to me.” He says.

It’s impossible to not cringe when his body sews itself back together. It’s better to hop up and head to the fridge then to watch it happen. Grabbing one of those brands that taste, in a word, icky and bringing it back. The skin was back together by the time you sat down again.

“Only because I don’t know where to buy morphine yet.” The beer is next to his head. A medical reason, not a reason of love.

* * *

**Kurt Wagner:**

One of these days you will last a day without getting a heart attack. Today is not one of those days.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Kurt exclaims, trying to stop you from already screaming.

It doesn’t matter the skin tone or look of any person. Someone suddenly appearing right next to you will always be scary.

He’s done this before, appeared right next you and being surprised by your reaction.

“It’s fine,” you say holding his shoulders as though he was the one who had been screaming. “Just, back up a few steps next time.” It’s a condition he always forgets and is never important enough to fuss about.

He smiles in that _“I’m sorry”_ way and takes your hand.

It’s only a heart beat until Peter is at the door frame. Kurt still holding your hand like an elementary school couple. Peter’s arms were crossed and was _tsk_ -ing at the entire scene in front of him.

“Who taught you guys how to sneak in?” He asks.


	2. One and only (Soulmate AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's rare when one doesn't have a soulmate, most have no. Even when you think they're gone or never existed, they are probably out there somewhere.

**Charles Xavier: Meter of how dangerous**

Past college age it’s pretty accepted that nobody cares about their soulmate or their meter. The only people that really care are those that are 120% sure they have their soulmate. Even then it’s impossible to be sure until one dies and the others meter slams down to zero like a knife in your heart.

People who still cared about their meter were the absolute worst.

_“Look how tough my soulmate is, they could beat your any day!”_ And this was said by the husband of the wrestler. Saying this with a smug face while you just smiled back.

All you had to do was hold up your wrist and that smug face dropped like a beautiful rock. 

The average number of the populations meter was five or below. Less then twenty percent reach over six and less then five reach ten. You are in that five, even from a young age everyone you showed it to assumed you had just drawn over it. More then one teacher forcing you scrub the area with soap to make sure you weren’t lying.

Just like everyone else you stopped caring about the number after college. Instead focusing on your teachings and the new school where you were officially the only non-mutant teacher at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Not thinking about that little number until almost two years, and well over establishment of relationship, later. Rubbing your thumb over the number and looking between it and Xavier still looking over papers.

“Can I see your wrist?” You ask, sitting on the edge of his desk, having gotten bored with waiting for him to pay attention to you.

Still writing with one hand he holds out the other without looking away from his papers. His arm stretches out for you to hold it, rubbing your thumb over little three etched in black. Placing your wrist next to his, the ten next to the three and looking back and forth between them.

“I doubt it will change with you staring at it.” Charles says after a few seconds.

It’s usually not until after marriage that you even consider someone is your soulmate. Avoiding saying it out loud you instead say: “Do you think I’m tough?”

He hesitates and that’s never good.

“You’re tough on the students.” He finally says.

“Yeah, but am I like, fighting tough?” You ask.

He hesitates again. He’s such a jerk.

“The students say you’re tough but good.” He finally says. He’s a lying jerk. 

* * *

**Erik Lehnsherr: meter of how _in_ danger**

Since you can remember the little number on your wrist has never gone down below a seven. Rubbing your thumb in soap and water never helped in removing the number, drawing over it with a marker was just sad.

It was your “friend’s fault that you had gone running to the teacher the first time the little marker hit ten. She looked over your shoulder and said, “they’re gonna die” right in your ear. At that young age it probably didn’t occur to them that there was anything wrong. Instead just watching you run to the teacher sobbing. Even so, you didn’t really hang out with them after that.

Also, after that incident long sleeves and bracelets were all the rage. Keep your wrists turned down, keep the thought of your soulmate out of your mind and away from your present. Only checking it once a day, when it stayed high that slowed down to once a week. By high school it was monthly.

By this point in your life it’s stayed at a constant nine, best not to think about it.

Raven/ Mystique: heterochromia

It was a scene out of a bad teen movie. Both you and Raven sitting cross legged on the bed facing eachother. She stares into your eyes, flicking back and forth between your natural and the yellow that matched her’s.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Raven talks like a little girl talking to her new puppy.

She never really had to concentrate to change her appearance. Staring into your eyes, her own changing slightly until it was created into hazel. Based on the smile that decorated her face your eye had changed at the same time.

With her mutation Raven didn’t have the same effect on her eyes as the rest of the world. Her body naturally wanting to be even on both sides, giving the impression that she either had a soulmate who could also change their eyes or didn’t have any at all.

It wasn’t until an off notice that she ever realized she had one.

A mirror is held up next to Raven’s head. Looking at yourself at the same time she could look at you. A giant grin and one too hazel eye looks back at you. Raven laughing at the same time you did.

“Now go back,” You say, a high from excitement.

“Go back to what?” She asks.

“Yellow, go back to what it is natural.” You say. Gently pushing her sitting for as encouragement. “Come on.”

You were probably one of maybe a handful of humans who understands what she was going through. Having to live your same young life with a constant changing face and eyes. Being mocked until reflective sunglasses became a regular piece of your wardrobe.

You were either still too giddy about this interaction or didn’t realize what you had asked. Either way Raven took a second before complying. Her grin wasn’t as wide as it was before, but she still smiled at yours.

* * *

**Peter Maximoff: Share the same fingerprint**

Your leg is bouncing so hard the table is going to vibrate right through the floor. For the first half an hour in here you were left alone. Listening to the metal table bang and tang against the floor until the first officer came in.

“I want a lawyer!” You immediately demand, banging the table once more with the top of your thighs. Practically knocking the whole table over.

“Calm down and sit down.” She says pointing at you with a file, “You’re not under arrest, Ma’am. I just have a few questions.”

Madam officer is nicer then you expected. The usual tactic was for the first officer to come in guns blazing, acting angry as a badger, slamming files and barking orders. It was the second cop that would be the nice one; apologizing for their partner and asking if you were okay. This time you got the kindness without being bullied.

“There have been several break ins at stores and museums in the past few years.” She explains. “Some goods were stolen, and they were all by the same person. A dumbass who doesn’t know to wear gloves.”

“I literally just got off the plane, this is my first time in the state.” You immediately say.

“Oh, I know, I know. We’re taking you for this. Unless you were a sprinter in high school.” She says with a closed mouth smile. Holding up a blurred picture that was nothing but a gray smudge in a black and white still. “We just want to know; do you know who your soulmate is?”

Just like the idea of a mother’s instinct there was an assumption that everyone is protective of their soulmates. Even when you don’t know who you were meant to be with there was a serious about them coming to harm.

“No, what was even stolen?” You ask.

She sighs deeply and holds up a list. “Uh, pop, a souvenir bear, the bathroom sign and almost completely cleared the gift shop of any candy.” She says, tossing the paper back down.

“Are you sure you weren’t robbed by a twelve-year-old?” Your arms cross in annoyance.

The officer was toying with her wedding ring. Watching you start to shut down. “We all can’t get lucky with who we’re destined for.

“And we all can’t be lucky in knowing who we’re destined for.” You almost snap back. “Look, I don’t know who he is, I haven’t met them yet. And since I’m not under arrest I bid you a good day.”

“Can you try not to leave the state, we might need you again.” She calls after you.

“Not under arrest, ma’am!” You call back.

Being new in the state you had to call for a car. Sitting perched next to the police sign, a leg swinging back and forth. The wind picks up to a hundred miles in second and dies in another.

A little bear still it’s tags left by your side.

* * *

**Hank McCoy: Color for the first time**

It was a gentle touch that he didn’t notice until glass shattered around your feet. He was too focused on the microscope in front of him to worry about a delivery girl accidentally catching his hand.

It was anybody’s guess what he was looking at. Probably some DNA that was naturally black and white, he wouldn’t see the whole world of new colors until he looked up.

In every movie when the soulmates meet there is a second of silence before they quickly grab eachother. More then half of the movie would then be each soulmate trying to describe color to their respective friends and family.

Instead all that came out was; “Sorry, I dropped your-. The sample, fuck, I’m sorry. Hi.”

He was equally as useless. “I can-I’ll make new ones.” He says, both of your looking down to the liquid that was now obviously purple compared tot eh gray it had been before. “I’m Hank,” He finally says.

You go to say your own name, he says it at the same time.

“I’ve read your name tag when you deliver them,” He explains. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself before.”

A small laugh comes out of your mouth. “Could have saved us a lot of time if you did.”

He laughs at the same level. “You weren’t jumping over things to shake my hand either.”

“And take away my chance to break stuff?” You say, gently nudging the broken glass.

* * *

**Jean Gray: Timer for when your soulmate will die**

There is no better feeling then looking down at your wrist and seeing literal years in neon green numbers. They dwindle down by seconds, stare long enough and it goes down into minutes. Nothing to worry about, though. Jean still has years and years, so much so that you don’t bother covering it up with bracelets or sleeves like most do.

It’s such a common fashion choice to cover that wrist you didn’t notice Jean did the same. Keeping a firm hand over her wrist to keep the bracelets from slipping, even though nobody would have seen it.

After you found eachother there was no point in asking how much time you had left. A recent poll showed that over eighty percent of people (taking away any factors) would/have lied to their soulmate about how much time they have left. The small percent that did only would because their mate had decades left.

Jean was in that eighty percent. Refusing to say how much time you had left, in turn you refusing to say either. Taking it as a joke instead of anything serious, even though Jean refused to touch you with that side of her.

It was only a few months after finding eachother that she started to hang around you more and more. The word “clingy” was even used after a few weeks. Not that it stopped her, instead her making jokes that possibly you were following her and that you just happened to know ahead of time.

Subtle weird behavior is never noticeable until after it’s pointed out. Your mutual friends being kind enough to pull her away for the night. Long enough for you to get away to the store. You loved her, but it was nice to buy some oranges without being hovered over. That your phone kept blowing up did nothing to deter your mission.

It wasn’t uncommon for one of the team to hit you up when they have one too many drinks. Determined to keep you as much in the loop as everyone in the room. If you had answered you’d likely be given narration of a board game gone violent for the rest of your shopping trip. It’d be better to wait until you get back; hear the narration over a nice glass of wine and your woman leaning against you.

It didn’t occur that there’d be another reason until the barrel was staring you down. A distant order to “get down” being heard too late to obey. 

* * *

**Logan/ Wolverine: Red string of fate**

People always described that stuff in different ways; a long stretch of light, silk ribbons or actual bolts of sparking lightening. No matter how people described it, they were all red in just as varying colors; some call it wine or blood, one particularly creative bartender called it “like a whore’s lipstick before work.”

Logan had never seen that stuff. Either brushing it off or just not participating in the conversation. For awhile he held his ring finger up to the light, maybe his ribbon was something thinner then dental floss, maybe even thin as hair and barely visible by the strands owner themselves. Eventually he stopped holding up his hand, even later he didn’t even care.

Forty years and three shots of the hard stuff later and he’s finally looking at his hand again. That little line of red wasn’t there a second ago. It wasn’t a ribbon or a string, certainly wasn’t some cool like lightening or floating liquid. Just a small chain, looked like the same width and strength of a necklace chain. In theory he should be able to rip it right off. He could feel it between his fingers and tell each link between each other, even then he tried pulling there was nothing.

It took days before he got the balls to actually follow the damn thing. It was a kid thing to take a year off between college and high school to try and find their destined. Logan was a little late to the game but not like he had anything better to do.

It wasn’t until he reached a hospital that he stopped in his tracks. Little chain of destiny leading right into the exit into the nursery. It only took him a few seconds before audibly going “nope,” and heading back to that bar.

* * *

**Kurt Wagner: Same injuries**

At some point it was easier to pop an Advil and ignore the point in your feet and knees then wonder why they were hurting. The real bitch came when you invisible drug was stabbed right into your neck. More then once falling face first onto your desk in school.

Given that the only cramps you experienced were yours they were a small vengeance. Easily the worst part of the connection were the cramps. Either you were born male and got to experience them without any warning, or you’re born female and get double the dose of them. It’s no wonder business is always booming for pain meds.


	3. Stay outside the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because a mutation is a gift, doesn’t mean it’s not a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the mutation is anyone within certain distance of the reader will start to die. Could not think of an eloquent way to say that.

**Charles Xavier:**

Sitting just within the shadow of one of the massive trees you lean back into the sun. The breeze is comfortable, and the grass is soft. If it weren’t for you company it’d be too easy to lean back and nap right there and then.

Although you’d never know the touch of his hand you were still connected to your man. A long stretch of twine, twenty-one feet exactly, is tied around your wrist. The other end was connected to Charles. Tied in the same fashion around your wrist but holding the string between his fingers. Without even meaning to he was caressing it; thumb rubbing up and down the length while the other hand held his book.

Closest you would get as physical contact from Charles was mirroring his movements. Running your own thumb over your other hand, not looking down lest your break the illusion.

* * *

**Erik Lehnsherr:**

At first he was just another face staring at you behind bullet proof glass. Both he and the other guy were talking to your permeant host, mouths moving but nothing coming through on your end. Had it been a year or even a few months early you would have sat on your bed with knees to the chest. Wait for them to leave before being comfortable again.

Now you just keep reading, barely glancing without interest to the glass.

“What have you done to be locked in here?” The tall man’s voice could be mistaken for God’s by how it comes down from above. The speakers placed so you’d never be able to pretend like you didn’t hear anything.

_‘Accidentally killed a bus load of people.’_ Was the answer but you wouldn’t say it.

“It’s safer for everyone. They’ll make sure I won’t hurt anyone while I’m in here.” You say instead, nodding to your host.

“Did they tell you that after they locked the door?” He asks.

Supposedly you weren’t in a prison. The incident on the bus was labeled a ‘possible gas leak of unknown substances’. You being the only survivor was sent to this facility to help with the trauma, and to find out how the same incident happened in the hospital.

You had yet to stare at him right on. His gentle knocking “You don’t belong here, you will never belong here. We can help you, _We’ll_ make sure you’re safe.”

There was nothing else to do with your life but to agree. You wouldn’t be able to leave on your own. But the moment you’re out, how could they ever get you back in?

* * *

**Raven/ Mystique:**

Over time you’ve learned how to push the poison deeper inside of you. Spending most days imaging it as a physical type of sand that covered you head to toe. Pressing and forcing that down into your shoes. Walking on it and keeping from spreading any further then a foot from your own body.

Even with that amount of work there was still times that it slipped. When Pressure in your head and behind your eyes starts to push out, and a migraine seems preferable, you have to make a quick exit.

Most people understand and don’t look twice when you run from the room. Others will give eachother looks but only verbally ask what’s up in a whisper later on in the night. Then there was the few that understood but still followed. How do you tell the woman that you love to fuck off for a night? Probably in much nicer words, but for now you make an exit from the mansion, Raven keeping her distance but following anyway.

“Get to the trees, little faster!” She almost yells the encouragement.

“Please, Raven, Please stay back!” You yelled, both hands holding your head.

It’d be romantic to think that you made it thanks to Raven’s encouragement. Whatever length of your nails, they dug into your scalp. The pressure was the definition of insanity at this point, stepping into the tree line and screaming without a sound.

Thank whoever was up there that Raven knew better then to comfort you. Staying far enough away that the released poison never touched her. The poison obeyed it’s own laws and stayed within the twenty feet. In the dark of the night green grass turns brown and trees creak instead of scream as they die. Only one of said trees was small enough to be completely overtaken by it.

You’re still drawing blood from your own head when that tree falls.

* * *

**Peter Maximoff:**

The best way to describe Peter is like a kitten who just learned it could climb things. Try as you might to explain that it’s not a good idea to climb the drapes it will never listen. It will keep trying to climb no matter how many times you pull it away and tell it “no”.

It’s not until there’s crashing in the middle of the night and few meows of pain that the little idiot will learn. This it the same situation you were in with Peter. No matter how many times you tell him to not get too close he always breaks the rule. Thinking that he is faster then the poison to run close enough to give a peck or a little slap on the backside before making it into the safe zone.

Little kisses and touches were always nice, but it was playing with fire. Eventually he got too cocky, assuming he was faster than poison that tries too hard to protect you. He started to slow down to make the kisses longer and touches more frequent. When that didn’t come with real repercussions, he started going even slower. When his hand lingers too long on your back the repercussions hits him full force.

It was hard enough to see the symptoms when you were younger. But as an adult, watching your man clutch his throat and fall to his knees was so much worse. With his head bowed you wouldn’t see the blood until he’d completely fall on his side, something that no one wanted to happen. Without thinking to you reached down to him, both hands open trying to do anything you can.

You name is yelled from across the lawn. An overly harsh shout from your mentor who had never honestly yelled at you before. “Back away!”

Charles could see the fear and shock in your eyes. But he also had the rest of his students to think about. _‘You have to go, now.’_ The whisper in your mind is a world away from the panicked shouts, but it might have been better if he had just yelled at you. 

* * *

**Hank McCoy:**

You had to be used to secluded rooms by now; at least this one was less like a cell and more like a square fish bowl. The stool in the center and the little slot on the side were the only things giving off prison vibes.

For most of the afternoon Hank has been focused on either his desk or a microscope or a computer. Every time he moves from one to another you look from your book, wait a few seconds to see whether he was looking at you, then return to the paragraph that you now had to restart.

There was no one to blame but yourself for this problem. Hank had told you it was going to be boring, when he would have results he’d get you himself. Instead you went with him. “Not like I’m doing anything anyway,” You had said, telling him to wait a few minutes to step into your little security fish box.

“It’s good enough for a trial run.” He says, probably to himself.

The liquid he holds up is the same shade of blue as his fur. Over the past few weeks it has changed from several different colors. At one point it looked like blood, like the same color as the blood you had given him. The he had held within a smaller containment field. Even the smallest part of you gave off at least a little poison.

“That’ll fix it? Or least tone it down?” You ask.

“Supposedly, I used my original idea and added some new things. Last time it didn’t go as well.” He says, slightly looking down at himself. He had meant it to come off as a joke, instead he says it with some sadness underlining it.

“Well with new stuff it must have improved, hand it over.” You move next to the little slot by the door.

“Considering last time, I’m gonna test it on something else, first. Make sure it doesn’t do the same thing again.” Hank says.

“What else are you going to test it on?”

“Not you,” He says shutting it in the desk. “If I make you any worse that box probably won’t hold it.”

It’s hard to pout and leave the room when you can’t leave the room. Instead just crossing your arms and pouting. 

* * *

**Jean Gray:**

Over a mile separates you and your woman. Hours spent in your little cabin in the corner of the estate, mostly sleeping, mostly hiding. This time it was pretending to sleep. Acting like the monstrous thunder and lightning outside wasn’t a window away from being in your room.

The rest of the students were in the school itself. Having their thicker walls and eachother to protect against the storm. The professor had offered you to stay inside the mansion during storms like this. But that safety would be in the basement, two floors below another living thing. Without any windows and set up with a less comfortable bed and none of your decorations. At least in the cabin you’d die around your things and the outside if the storm got in.

_‘Hey’_ Jean always had a way to find you. Mostly in your mind. _‘How are you doing?’_

“If I die do you think my mutation will leave with me?” You ask the darkness.

_‘Don’t say that. It’s just a storm, nothing we don’t live with.’_ Her soft laugh travels with her words. It warms the cabin and keeps away the lightening for the briefest of moments. _‘Do you want to come inside?”_

“No, I’m all snuggled up. I don’t think I’d make it to the mansion anyway.”

Although the darkness gives nothing there’s a soft weight on your shoulder. A matching feel covering the extension of your back. Knees without a body pressed into the back of yours, arms and no being lay over your body. Their fingers in your hair. You were alone, but Jean make sure to be with you.

* * *

**Logan/ Wolverine:**

Being around Logan was like being in another world. One where you were born without the poison smell and didn’t have to struggle to remember what another person felt like. First time you felt his hand on your shoulder it was like being slapped.

“It’s like swallowing pennies. I can taste it, but nothing is coming out.” Logan had described it to you. His healing faster than the damage your poison could give.

On the off chance that Logan is injured in your company, it’s very likely the poison would take advantage of that moment. But that didn’t stop you either of you. It was a possibility that was best not thought about.

Instead you stay your course. Turning the school girl crush into a relationship through raw stubbornness and the ability to get drunk on someone into a two party affair. 

* * *

**Kurt Wagner:**

You were two people with the same want of seclusion but for different reasons. Just happening to catch a glance of each other when having the same idea of a hiding spot.

Back then you were still new to the estate, being allowed to read and work away from others. Catching a glance of anyone and your scrambling to gather your books, coming off as more then just rude when you yell at them to stay back.

Kurt was the one you didn’t have time to yell at to get away. A flash of blue, books in your arms, and he’s gone. Only a few times did he stay long enough for you to catch a better look at him. A face, blue skin and a tail that hung down from the branch he had been sitting on. That time he was far enough away to not be in danger, had you waved at him he would be. But only if he misread and took it as an invitation to come closer.

It took weeks but you finally had the courage to wave. Just a small one that he returned. A small relationship made through small gestures.


	4. Public enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powers don’t always obey their masters. Sometimes they have their own minds, making problems and causing destruction that you’re left to deal with. When that happens, you’re going to need some help finding a sanctuary.

**Charles Xavier:**

Charles’s office, specifically the couch, has been your home for some time. Although it has only been a few days, two at most, but it felt like years. Hours spent sitting specifically in the couch’s corner where anyone entering wouldn’t notice you right away. Reading and taking your place as secretary more seriously makes time move in a slower fashion.

“Would you grab that book for me?” Charles asks, slapping you out of whatever deep thought you were currently drowning in.

At first these little tasks he asks you to do seem to come randomly. As if he just remembered you were there and felt bad. In reality he’s probably been in the outer layer of your mind for longer then you’ve been in the office.

Ignoring these facts, you focused on your work. It had spread quickly through the school that you were open and able to grade anyone’s homework or papers. Like the rest of your current life, these were taken care in Charles’s office. A place you’ve been bent over for hours until a phone call held your attention.

Charles is a pretty decent liar. Between his history with authority and with children, he speaks with enough confidence that it’s not worth thinking about. Obviously he still had his tells, even if the person he was lying wasn’t in front of him, he still looked down and go quiet for a second.

“No, I’m afraid we haven’t heard from her.” When he starts his lie, his tells are typically gone. “Yes, we will absolutely contact you if she comes here. And, in the event of that happening, I ask that consider our relationship before deciding anything.”

You don’t say anything when he hangs up. Instead deciding that to grab that book before he asks you to.

* * *

**Erik Lehnsherr:**

Erik was nice enough not to say or ask anything at first. Your few items in a bag, and all your savings spent on bribing a boat captain to take you here. All this was written on your face, practically screaming that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Is anyone going to be coming?” was the only thing he asked.

Instead of a verbal answer you shrugged with a shake of your head. _Maybe…_

Erik uses the excuse of an escort to keep a hand on your back, around your shoulders. Even gently on the back of your neck to ask his question in a whisper. Although Genosha was supposedly a sanctuary to all mutants, you were still an outsider. An outsider who had, not only, caused destruction but just might bring down the anger of the world onto them.

“You came here quickly, then.” Erik says, in leadership mode. Sitting across from you, elbows on his knees, looking almost into you.

“You guys aren’t exactly hiding,” It wasn’t a good joke but still you blow air out of your nose, trying to force a tiny laugh.

“Then why come here to hide?” He asks.

When the answer you give is another shrug ( _I don’t know…)_ he sighs. Standing and returning with a hot cup of beverage. A kettle had either been set before he stepped out to greet you, or one was constantly kept a little warm. Either way it was somewhere between tea and coffee, but definitely not both.

“What did you do?” he asks.

It took some time to tell the entire story. Skipping too many details about the fear and anger that all came at you at once. Erik has heard it all before in much worse amounts. Only admitting that you were wanted, so many were hurt or completely destroyed by a lapse of control.

He doesn’t interrupt or ask any other questions. He just listens and keeps an ear out for helicopters.

* * *

**Raven/ Mystique:**

At some point you were taken to the hospital with the other survivors. The journey was hard to remember; being placed on a bed and tossed around in the back of an ambulance. Pretending to be just as out of it as the others, really just avoiding eye contact with the paramedics.

It’s nice to think that you had a plan for when you got to the hospital, and you kinda did. With all the people coming in at once there was the chance you’d be left in the hallway or an open area to wait for a bed. In the event of that happening you could just roll over and walk out. Just walk with confidence and make it out the door.

That you were now restrained in a bed in your own room meant that plan was out the window. Laying back and letting the nurses check you out with shaking hands. Just enough to check you over but not enough to pretend to be doing their job.

“It’s fine,” The nurse says, practically slamming the room door shut behind him. It wasn’t a thick door; you could still hear through it. “Please don’t make me go near it again.” He says to someone in the hallway, probably a doctor or some other superior.

It isn’t until their talking has mostly stopped that you bother trying to escape. Your restraints were soft but also tight, something that you couldn’t slide out of easily. Rocking the bed, trying to tip it over, would just leave you dangling off the side. Still strapped in but with bruises and staring at the floor.

While thinking of another dashing escape plan the door opens again. A nurse steps and gently closes the door behind her. This one was a woman nurse, so far you’ve only been dealing with males. It was likely because of the threat you posed that it had only been men. Specifically, the biggest nurses and orderlies that were available.

Because of this you watch the woman as she walks over. She was a small woman with brown hair in a bob cut, the white uniform and a smile she held while pulling the curtain around. You were smart enough not to say anything until she did. Or until she shifts entirely from white uniform into blue skin, immediately pulling at your restraints.

“Hey, Hi. Babe, I’m sorry…” You have a million things to say at once.

All the words fighting to be the first to be said. All ignored by your girl, who just places a gentle hand over your mouth and whispers a _shhh._ Going back to the restraints and whispering:

“Don’t say anything,” She says, opening the first and reaching over to get the next. “Let’s just get out of here.”

You quickly pulled the faded green scrubs over your clothes. Raven placing a surgical hat on your head and mask over your face was the best she could do. Raven quickly becoming the bobbed hair nurse again. She nods at you, as if to say, “everything will be fine.”

* * *

**Peter Maximoff:**

So much energy coming out at once has to take it out form somewhere. What was a splitting headache a second ago became a massive weight. One that dragged you down from the standing position and towards the floor. Only to be caught by arms that were not there a second ago.

It wasn’t that Peter was “harboring a fugitive,” or was “obstructing justice” he was just helping out his girlfriend. Something that he has argued about with several people.

“I don’t believe this was done on purpose, Ser.” Professor Xavier says into the phone, staring at Peter as he did. “No, she still has yet to reach out to us. To any of us. The moment she does we will tell you.”

Peter makes a face and shrugs when the phone is hung up. “I don’t see why they need her. It’s was an accident, she said sorry, I don’t see what else there is.”

Professor Xavier doesn’t seem to bother asking where you are. Peter wouldn’t tell him, and he could easily find you with _cerebro_.

“Is she safe?” He asks, wanting whatever truth Peter was willing to give.

“I mean, I don’t know where she is, but she safe. I think, yeah, she’s safe.” He says. Smart enough to help you vanish but not enough to know better then to lie to a telepath.

* * *

**Hank McCoy:**

Like a little kid you’ve chosen the staircase banister to hide behind. Either hand holding onto a separate bar, looking out between them. Your spot was strategically placed far enough away from the door that they wouldn’t see your details through the banister. As far as they were concerned you were just a curious kid. A very big curious kid.

“They” were the people Hank was currently handling at the door. It had been only two days since the incident and it’s amazing it took them this long to reach your door. Three men in suits and a woman in a white coat knocked at your door just after lunch.

Sending the students from the hall Hank took control of the situation. Never outright telling you to leave the main hall but did make a similar “shoo” gesture that he gave the kids while telling them to make their exit.

Although the distance gave you an advantage it also kept you from hearing what was being said. The men on the other side weren’t giving enough body language to tell if they were upset or not. Only one seemed to be talking, the others were moving side to side on their feet. If Hank were to move too far to one side or the other they’d try and make their way inside.

 _“They don’t have a right to take you, not legally or in anyway.”_ Hank had reassured you hours earlier.

It started to get tense on the other side of the room. One of the men giving up on waiting for an opening and trying to make one himself.

Hank’s change can happen slow or it can happen so fast you don’t even realize it. The friendly approach of a regular human at the door was abandoned the moment they showed aggression. Blue arms and baring teeth made all three jump, reaching for their hips. The woman in white, the seeming bravest of the group, steps forward. A hand reached out, but the door is slammed in her face.

* * *

**Jean Gray:**

Life is confusing and everyone is screaming.

At first their screams were sympathetic; they were screams of fear and pain. But after hearing them non-stop for several minutes it’s hard to feel bad. It was almost like they were doing it on purpose. Like, if they just shut up for one second you could figure what was happening.

They didn’t, though, they wouldn’t shut up. Distracting you from the indestructible bubbles creating and growing in the walls, machines and skin. Expanding and tearing everything apart.

There’s two other voices among the screaming that stands out: the first is the loudest. It’s the purest form of anger and fear that could ever be made. It was also the most annoying, if that one person would just shut-the-fuck-up you could probably think. The other voice is the only one not screaming. It wasn’t sweet or kind like it was before, it was harsh and stern. Power behind the voice making it louder then a scream ever could be. 

It was pretty obvious whose voice was yours and who’s belonged to Jean.

Jean’s voice was like that. It was powerful, it was a strict father’s and a commanding mother’s combined. If she wanted to, she could make it impossible to escape her voice. She uses this power of voice now: Where your ears can’t take any information, but your mind was burst open and unprotected.

You never understood what she was saying completely. Only that it was nice, and that it made everything go black.

* * *

**Logan/ Wolverine:**

More than half the population of earth is smarter than Logan. He’s more than willing to admit that, but what he did know was not to poke an already agitated bear. That’s all you were in that moment. A very pissed off bear sitting in the corner of a glass square.

It honestly wouldn’t have been that bad if Peter hadn’t compared it to the cages Magneto had been in. That was when everything seemed to become real for you.

This was only way that there wouldn’t be an absolute hunt for mutants. Your containment in exchange for a lie told by the Secretary of Defense to the entire world. That, no, there was not “mutant attack”, this was an unexplained, isolated incident. One that was now being held in the basement of a government building until your fate is decided.

“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” You ask, picking at the bottom of your white scrubs.

“I didn’t see the signs.” He says, waiting for someone to dare and yell at him about the cigar.

Instead of asking for the cigar verbally you raise a hand towards one of the small breathing holes. He slides it towards you, butt first. Only giving a little direction on how to puff the thing instead of straight up inhale it.

Smoking anything while stressed was a good way to start a bad habit. Something Logan tried to keep you from. Given the situation, he allowed the nicotine high you were gonna get from working on the thing. It was another test for this place. A test to see just how long or how many little rules he could break before someone yelled at him.

Not that he would ever use this knowledge for selfish means. It was just good to know when things would start to go south. Not that the Professor gave him permission, he just didn’t tell him not to.

* * *

**Kurt Wagner:**

Any pictures or footage taken of you during the incident were stolen straight from hell. That was the only aspect anyone cared about; the ones where you were wild and there was nothing in your eyes except for uncontrolled power.

No one thought about the few seconds after the incident. That instead of power there was confusion and fear. Staring at your hands and into the world looking for answers.

That scene only lasted a few seconds. Long enough for the blue devil to match your hell appear and disappear with you.

Like a child you went to bed without dinner. Although it was by choice, and this wasn’t your bed. It was a hiding place in the same building that your seekers were searching. But with a protective layer of blankets, and an extra layer of your boy sitting in front of the door, you could enjoy these last few minutes before your life goes to hell.


End file.
